


Grey Anatomy

by Neriad13



Series: Delta's Heart Saga [2]
Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Existential Crisis, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Laboratories, Medical Experimentation, Medical Trauma, Moral Dilemmas, The Banality of Evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29644764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neriad13/pseuds/Neriad13
Summary: A young, idealistic medical student walks into his first day as a part-timer at Fontaine Futuristics. What could possibly go wrong?
Series: Delta's Heart Saga [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000584
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Grey Anatomy

Ferran stood outside the foreboding looking metal door and tried to scrounge up one more game plan for getting through it. It had no windows or a buzzer, nor any other visible way to get the attention of whomever might be on the other side. It was at least a couple of inches thick and likely soundproof. When he’d put his ear against it, he’d heard nothing at all. When he’d knocked - first, at a polite volume and then, one normally reserved for noisy neighbors at three in the morning - not a soul had responded. Jumping up and down in front of the security camera just down the hall had done nothing but make the whole situation even more ridiculous.

Ruefully, he eyed the slot a keycard was meant to slide through. That was the problem, right there. Someone, somewhere down the line had messed up. Hadn’t that bald man said something about getting keycards at the end of orientation? He knew he should’ve made a bigger stink when they hadn’t materialized. 

Was that pair of accountants he’d been sitting next to locked out of their department too? Surely Accounting didn’t merit a three inch thick steel door. They _had_ to at least have a window over there. 

Not like his department. For all the grief it was giving him, he understood why it had to be sealed tighter than Rapture’s infrastructure. Longingly, he eyed the brass plaque beside the door.

 _Protector Program_ , it read, in a no-nonsense font. 

He was fifteen minutes late now. It rankled, achieving anything but perfection on the first day of a new job due to no fault of his own. So did being imperfect in any aspect of his life, really. Which was, he was well aware, a flaw in and of itself. It was something he’d long been working on, in between classes and study sessions. He didn’t see the reason why _everything_ had to be a competition. What, exactly, did doctors focused on outdoing each other do for the patient? Since early on in his second semester, he had decided that he’d be better than that. Playing his small role, he’d make the _world_ better than that.

He decided to try knocking again. Perhaps add some shouting to it. Screaming until he was red in the face and pounding on the door with both fists wasn’t the first impression he was keen on making, but he’d do what he had to do. He’d _wanted_ this job. He’d sat through a two hour presentation on keeping company secrets. He’d ridden public transit to the ass-end of the city to get there. 

When he’d balled his fists tight, readied his vocal cords and was about to launch into the mightiest pounding he’d ever done, the door opened of its own accord. A man with freckles dotting the bridge of his nose and the length of his forearms, dressed in scrubs matching his own, peered out.

“Hullo?” he asked. “Are you...Ferran?”

“Y-Yes. Hello.” he answered, hurriedly unballing his fists and dropping them to his sides.

The man made a sheepish face.

“Oh my god,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Went right into my rounds before I remembered there’s a new hire. C’mon in. I’ll try to make it up to you.”

He opened the door a bit wider and gestured him in.

To Ferran’s slight disappointment, it was like any lab he’d ever been in. Ordinary desks. Workbenches of the exact same make as those in Rapture U’s chemistry lab. Filing cabinets. A refrigerator that wouldn’t look out of place in his mom’s kitchen. A centrifuge gathering dust. 

A few techs in lab coats were milling about - some of them hunched over microscopes, one of them wiping down a bench. The freckled man waved at the bench-wiper and got a wave in return. He flashed a smile at Ferran before returning to his work.

“I’ll introduce ya later.” the freckled man said. “Right now we’ve gotta _move_.”

They stopped at an unkempt desk with a variety of unique coffee stains decorating the wood. The freckled man pulled out the largest drawer, rummaged around for a moment before exclaiming “A-ha!” and pulling a keycard triumphantly out. 

“HR dropped it off this morning.” he explained, passing it over with a thoroughly miffed expression. “Don’t know why they didn’t leave it at the front desk. But when do the pencil-pushers ever think it through, right? Don’t lose it.”

The picture on it hadn’t turned out half bad. But his surname had been spelled “Lackman” rather than “Lachman.” 

“This isn’t”- Ferran started to say.

“What you expected?” the freckled man finished, with a toothy smile. “Bubbling plasmids and giant test tubes with subjects floating in them, right? Nah. We’re a bit more boring than that.”

“Well, actually”- 

“But only a bit! We’ll get into the good stuff later today, promise. I’m Keelly, by the way. Pleased to meet ya. You’re in training with me today. You’re pre-med, right?”

“Er...yes.” Ferran answered, thoroughly defeated for the time being. Reluctantly, he affixed the badge to his shirt. “I’m thinking about specializing in ADAM as medicine.”

“Ooh!” Keelly said, nodding approvingly. “Good call, coming here. You’re all for getting to see what ADAM can _really_ do, right? None of that ‘a nip here, a tuck there.’ The real deal.”

“That’s exactly it.” 

“I’m sure you know it’s all grunt work for us two, but Dr. Alexander is really great. Nicest boss I ever had. No pretensions of grandeur, just puts his head down and works as hard as the rest of us. You’ll learn a lot here, with him around. So!”

He clapped his hands.

“That’s enough lollygagging, I think. How about we shake a leg and get on with that tour?”

-

“That’s the corkboard.” Keelly said, pausing beside it.

So it was. It seemed exactly as interesting as anything else Ferran had seen today. A well worn manila envelope labeled “Orderlies” hung by a tack on it. Keelly took it down and rifled through the papers inside.

“Now this’s where the last shift leaves their notes for us. And we put ours. You want to check that the second you clock in, first thing. Now let’s see…”

He scanned down the page, his finger traveling down the lines. Ferran peered over his shoulder to see that it had stopped on the η symbol.

“Subject Eta’s running a fever.” Keelly explained, leaning over to give him a closer look. He rolled his eyes. “ _Again_. Extra fluids for him and we take a peek in there every so often. It’s probably nothing, but you’ve gotta be careful with these guys, right? They’re a bit more susceptible to the common cold. We’re not quite sure why. Not like there’s much money in studying ADAM’s effect on the immune system. Anyway…”

He hummed tunelessly as he scrolled down the list.

“Same-o, same-o. Most days, we’re just here to change the drainage bags, give sponge baths, make sure they’re getting enough nutrients. Mop the floor. That kind of thing. Told you we’re boring. You’re part-time, right? What’re you working? Friday-Saturday?”

“Wednesday and Friday. It works out best with my class schedule.”

“Oooh. Even better.” Kelly said, nodding approvingly. “I’m tellin’ ya, it’s boring as _balls_ on weekends in this joint, with most of the movers out on the town. Good on you for not wasting a weekend. Oh, hey. Subject Delta needs a bandage removed. That’s something. Look at you, getting a… _less_ boring task your first day on the job.”

“Oh _goody_.” Ferran said, returning his sarcasm in kind. 

Keelly grinned. 

“Anything else on here I need to know about?”

Keelly’s face abruptly fell..

“Oh yes.” he answered, in a low, deadly-serious voice, his formerly easy manner changing so completely that he seemed like a different person. “This. Right here...that’s the most important thing of all. It’s…”

“The Birthday Schedule.” he finished, his goofy smile giving him away before he’d quite delivered the punchline. “We take turns, bringing in a little treat to celebrate with. No booze. And Ted’s deathly allergic to peanuts. Put your birthday on there too if you want. Or don’t. Your call. I mean...it’s not _that_ big of a deal. Anyway...ready to start our rounds?”

“Y...yeah. Sure.”

-

“How about we rip off that band-aid first?” Keelly pondered aloud, leisurely pushing the cart down a plain white hall lined with windowless doors. “Hmm. Or should we save it for last? Leave us somethin’ to look forward to, y’know? What do you think?”

He might’ve asked if it’d be more entertaining to watch paint dry or molasses drip. 

_No_ , Farren reminded himself firmly. _We’re caring for patients. That’s what it’s all about. Of course the little things matter. Not everything has to be an earth-shaking discovery._

“Ah…” he said. “I think...yes. Let’s go with the bandage.”

“Alrighty.” Keelly said, stopping at a door marked with a triangle. He gave it a sharp rap. “But...before we go in there, you’re not a fainter, right?”

“No?”

“And you’ve got a strong stomach?”

“Of course. I mean...I’m dissecting rats in Gross Anatomy right now.”

“Oh, I’m not insulting you.” Keelly said, putting his hands up in supplication. “I’ve had some hires in here who said they weren’t fainters, but I open this door and guess what happens? It...can be tricky. Seeing them for the first time. Even if you know what you’re expecting. I wouldn’t fault you for fainting. Or running for the john. Either this is your field or it isn’t, y’know? It’s good that you’re finding out so early in your career. Keepin’ wasted time and cash to a minimum, right? Anyway...here goes.”

He put his hand on the doorknob and twisted. Ferran held his breath. Here he was, all gung-ho about getting into it and Keelly had to go and say _that_. 

To his great relief, it was dim inside. Keelly stuck his head in, turned on a light and gestured for him to follow with the cart. Suddenly feeling the need to very intently examine the contents of the cart, Ferran followed him in. 

He didn’t faint. But he did feel his stomach flip.. 

It was as though he could see the outline of a human in there; huddled under a blanket that was much too small for it and so bedazzled with sensors and tubes running into various orifices that it was difficult to tell where machine ended and flesh began. There was a thick swathe of gauze around the part he had to assume was its throat. Its eyes were closed - it did have two of those, in the more or less normal place - and the skin around them was blotchy and red. Had it been _crying_? 

No, no, of course not. He was thinking too deep into it. ADAM had a lot of strange effects on skin, not all of them understood. He expected it’d be more of the same with the others.

Besides, whoever he’d been before, he’d chosen to become a parasite so dangerous that it necessitated complete removal from polite society. True, there were a lot of parasites out there who wouldn’t be parasites if given the slightest nudge. Those he could help. Those were the ones he’d stake his career on. But the others…

There had to be a line somewhere between them. How would society work, otherwise?

His eyes drifted to the chains around its thick wrists and followed them down to the far too flimsy looking bolt on the hospital bed to which they were fastened.

Keelly watched at him for a moment, waiting, he presumed, to make absolutely certain he wasn’t going to faint. When no such thing happened, he launched right back into teaching mode.

“Just some insurance.” he said, answering the unspoken question and wiggling the chain a little. “They’re _fairly_ docile at this stage. But...it’s like puberty. Sometimes they don’t understand their own strength. Rip through soft restraints like nobody’s business too. We’ve had accidents in the past. Before I was hired on, that is. Stick to the precautions we teach you and there’s not a thing you need to worry about.

“Anyway…” he continued, tapping a spot on his own throat. “Two days ago, Subject Delta here had his Voicebox Procedure. Sounds within the 16 and 40 Hz frequency have been clinically proven to reduce Gatherer stress by 15%, which in turn leads to a 2% increase in ADAM production. Happy gatherers make happy slugs. _And_ happy investors. Kind of like cats. Well...with the purring. So, we give ‘em a voicebox capable of reaching those frequencies. Not that his has been turned on yet, though. Bit loud for that in here. It’s just about the last thing they do before getting suited up and tested out. As you can see, this guy’s almost ready for the next phase. They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

He wiped away a mock tear. 

“So...all we gotta do is remove the bandage. Simple as it sounds. Probably. If we spot anything that’s not right, we grab one of the doctors. Do you have much experience with medical-grade ADAM?”

“Ah...no.”

“No problem. I’ll get this one and you can watch. Sometimes there are complications you might not’ve seen before. Doesn’t happen too often, but it’d be a good learning experience. We’ll see…”

He snapped on a pair of gloves, bent down and undid the clip that was holding the gauze in place. The creature’s eyes opened and stared up blearily at him as he unwound it, layer by layer. Slowly, a lump bigger than an adam’s apple but with roughly the same placement, surfaced from underneath the wrappings. 

And then the creature jerked violently in its bed. Its arms strained against the chains, its meaty muscles tensing with horrible force. Keelly jumped like a cat who’d stepped in a puddle. Ferran swore he saw the bolt holding him down judder in place.

“Ah, damn.” Keelly said, once they’d both had a chance to catch their breath. “Skin’s grown into the bottom layer of gauze. That’s the problem with medical-grade ADAM. It’ll fix you up in a jiffy, but it don’t always stop there. Eh.”

He shrugged.

“Well, I asked for it, didn’t I? Now...most of the time, you can just tease it free. Take it slow and it’s no big deal. A little irritation, a couple skin tags. Worst case scenario, it’s _really_ stuck in there and we’ve gotta page the surgeon. Now, then…”

He tugged at the bandage a little more. The creature’s alien face contorted in a way that, for all its oddness, suggested pain. Its toothless mouth opened as though it were crying out, but not a sound emerged. 

“You don’t want to just pull it off.” Keelly said, firmly ignoring the creature’s distress. “We don’t want to risk reopening an in- _yaah_!”

He dropped the gauze just before it jerked its head sharply to the side and buried its face in the pillow.

“ _Dammit._ ” Keelly growled under his breath, glaring at the smooth skin on the back of the creature’s head. “Might need a sedative to do this. Goddamn hassle…”

The creature seemed so pathetic now. The chains rattled slightly with the vibration of its shivers. The half of its misshapen face that wasn’t smushed into the pillow was blotchier than before.

“Did I show you where we keep the tranquilizers?”

“I...no. Don’t think so.” Farren answered, not taking his eyes off the creature. 

It was curled up as small as it could go, given its size, the narrowness of the bed and the reach of the chains. _Was_ it so different from any other patient, really? Not fully aware of what his feet were doing, he wandered a step closer.

“It’s a bit of a trek. You know how it is.” Keelly rambled on, paying him no mind.

There was a knot in his stomach and a lump in his throat at the thought of what every doctorly instinct he had was telling him to do next. Something in his brain rebelled against the idea. He was humanizing a thing that wasn’t a human. It was bad scientific practice. It was plainly pissed off and liable to take a swipe at him too. There was no saying that it would work.

He took a purposeful step closer.

“Don’t want the flunkeys getting into the”-

“Hey.” Ferran said, clearing the last foot of distance between them and stooping down to the creature’s level. “Look at me. It’s okay.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Keelly’s direction. The creature didn’t move. The thought that it might not be able to understand him flashed across his mind. Then, slowly, it made a minute shift towards him. Its eyes were blue and clear and peering over its shoulder at him with deep suspicion.

“There you are.” Ferran said, forcing a smile that he hoped wasn’t too tinged with the terror that was racing through every one of his veins. “It hurts, doesn’t it? And it’s upsetting, not being able to express yourself. Well, I’m going to stay right here. And…”

He paused. The lump in his throat was threatening to choke him. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stomach the thought of _touching_ it without protection, illogical as he knew that fear was.

No. It was a _patient_ , in need and hurting. He had to _try_. 

Swallowing thickly, he reached up and slipped his hand between the creature’s sausage-like fingers. His whole hand fit into its palm as if it had been made for that purpose. Its hide was as warm and smooth as a baby’s skin. His fear dissipated like a drop of blood in the ocean at the touch of it. 

Before he reached up with his other hand, he noted the crude tattoo inked into the back of its hand, just below its knuckles - a triangle to match the one on the door. One side had bled inelegantly into the skin. Farren cupped his other hand around it, concealing it from view. The chain jangled as he pulled the creature’s big hand into a more comfortable position for holding. 

“You can hang on to me, if you like.” he said, peering into its glaring eyes, without a trace of the trepidation he’d felt moments before. “That’s all you have to do. And look at me. Don’t look at anything else.”

It kept on glaring. Ferran had a sudden vision of it crushing his hand into powder. 

And then its expression softened, just a little. It shifted in its bed so that it was facing him. There was a deep purple bruise on its throat, around the spot where the gauze had stuck. Slowly, its fingers curled around his hand. It was gentle; nothing at all like the vise-like grip he’d been playing movies of in his head. It could pet a cat with that hand. It could pluck a flower without crushing it, given the chance.

“Good job.” Ferran said, patting the back of its hand. “Now then, the two of us are going to try again. That okay by you? Let me know when you’re ready. Two blinks and I’ll understand.”

Its eyes were watering. It squeezed them tight and then quickly, blinked. Once. Twice.

Ferran glanced over his shoulder to see Keelly staring at him, open-mouthed. He made a stiff motion with his head at the creature. For a moment longer, Keelly gawped and then, reluctantly, tiptoed just a little closer. 

“Ready?” Ferran asked.

Keelly let out a huffy sigh and picked up the dangling end of gauze. The creature’s bottom lip quivered when he started pulling it, so slowly that he hardly seemed to be doing anything at all. 

“Hey,” Ferran said. “Look at me. We’re almost there. It’s almost over. You didn’t want to keep that bandage around, did you? How’re you going to communicate when they _do_ turn on your voice, with that old thing stuck on your speaker? I heard it’s going to be loud. Uh _huh_. I don’t think they’re ever going to doubt how you feel once you’ve got that. Shhh, shhhh. Look at me. Keep looking.”

It opened its watery eyes and gave him a pleading look. Keelly tugged the last bit of bandage free. 

“You did it.” Ferran said, stroking the back of its hand. 

He stood up and attempted to let go. The creature didn’t oblige. It stared into his soul, its eyes streaming with tears, its grip slowly tightening to an uncomfortable level of firmness. The fear flooded back all at once. He’d stuck his hand into the maw of a combine harvester, a garbage disposal, a predator that hadn’t eaten in months. His smiling facade cracked. With a gasp, his heart thudding in his ears, he jerked it free - and immediately felt worse. The betrayal in the creature’s eyes stung as much as if he’d ripped a bandage off his own throat. It laid back, made itself as tiny as it could go and refused to look at either of them.

“So…” Keelly said, with considerable awkwardness. He gestured at the creature’s neck with the ball of gauze still in hand. “This right here? That’s what you want to see. The bruises are nothing to worry about, the incisions’ve healed up nicely. No signs of rejection, _yet_...”

-

Ferran washed his hands. He scrubbed under the nails. He swirled the bar of bar of soap in his palms again and again and again. He washed up to his elbows and had to stoop to stick his entire arm in the tiny basin of the sink to rinse it off. It didn’t feel like enough. There was some germ crawling on his skin that he couldn’t get rid of. It remained, a stain just beyond what the retinas of his eyes could perceive, no matter how hard he scrubbed.

“It’s my fault, really.” Keelly was saying, as he leaned against the lab wall, arms crossed. “I should’ve said something before, but…”

Ferran turned off the water and pulled a few paper towels free.

“But…?” he asked.

“Look.” Keelly said, turning to him with a seriousness befitting the Birthday Schedule. “The thing you’ve gotta know is...you _can’t_ talk to them.”

The lump swelled in his throat again.

“Dr. Alexander sees that, it’s grounds for immediate dismissal. You start talking with them, you make it harder for them to bond with the Gatherers. You touch them any more than is absolutely necessary and the whole thing’s thrown off. At least, that’s the hypothesis. But…”

He sighed.

“It’s your first day. You didn’t know. And to tell ya the truth, I’m kinda glad we didn’t have to make a run to lockup. But. Don’t do it again. And mum’s the word on what happened today. Got it?”

Ferran nodded. Keelly brightened.

“Glad we sorted that out! Now, how would you feel about a coffee break?”

-

In a childhood that seemed as though it had happened a lifetime ago, before his parents had packed up their fortune and shipped them all underseas, Ferran had read stories. Stories of rugged heroes who stood against the odds. Who fought not for personal gain, but because it was _right_. Who would sacrifice everything if it _meant_ something. Who would fight a battle they knew they would lose, if only to say that they had not lost themselves.

The books had not come to Rapture with him. He was given new stories, new heroes, new ideals to live up to. He was told that he could be anything, that there was no limit to what he might achieve in this city and that there was no shame in stepping on others to get where he wished to go. The strong pulled themselves up the chain. The weak links fell away. If what he wanted was to be a doctor, he had understood that it would be in service to the perfection of society.

But if that was the case, why did he shuffle home from work with a hollow in his heart at the end of every single shift he worked? Why had he utterly ceased to feel a thing when he aced a test or saw his name on the top of the leaderboard? Why were the words in his textbooks only words and nothing more to him any longer? 

He knew why. Though he was loathe to admit it. 

They were wrong. _He_ had been wrong, all these years. Wrongness was not a thing he was well versed in dealing with. It ate him up from the inside out. He trudged through his life without paying attention. He studied by rote and without passion. He stopped responding to his friends’ invitations. Whenever he saw his parents, there was not a thing he could think of to say to them. 

He scraped the bottom in the dead of night, hunched over a chapter on the nervous system. Beside him was a sandwich he had taken a bite out of two hours ago, before promptly losing all notion of an appetite. 

He straightened his back, blinked away the sleep in his eyes and wondered how he had gotten here. 

He was wrong. That had been thoroughly established. But what was _right_? 

What would a hero from his books have done? 

A hero would have stuck by until the bitter end. A hero would have spent his life fighting corruption from the inside, pushing back against the things he’d been told all his life with every step and bending the world to his will bit by tiny bit. A hero would do everything he could to right what was wrong and if need be, go down with it. A hero would not lose himself in a morass of shades of grey. 

But he was not a hero.

He buckled under the enormity of the task. He despaired at the thought of spending his whole life fighting, tooth and nail, for what he believed in, for what he knew beyond a reasonable doubt was no chance of victory. He quaked at the ostracization that would inevitably follow and the loss of everything he had thought he wanted. 

He was only a cog in a machine too great for any single person to ever see the whole of. What hope had he of saving anyone? What hope had he of saving himself?

Two weeks later, he resigned from his program and his part time job.

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally written that a 15% reduction in Gatherer stress leads to a 5% increase in ADAM production but when I got to that part in editing I thought "Naaaah. That's too close to being reasonable. 2%."


End file.
